When We Die
by Vekaro Briefs
Summary: A Swordsman, a Warrior and a Mage. An Imperial, a Nord and a Breton. Three different people from three different walks of life are beckoned upon to stop an evil that has been in the making for decades. Its one and only goal: Destroy and rebuild Tamriel.
1. Chapter 1

**When We Die**

**Prologue: A wind among chimes. **

Dack Sparks blinked his bloodshot eyes, staring at the now open book before him. It was nearing the end of the day, and the Imperial was graciously prepared to rush off to his ragtag bedroll so that he could promptly crash out into the night. The thin pillow and itchy blanket he had escaped from some hours ago seemed like Heaven compared to the lethargic boredom he was facing throughout the day. Around him, his fellow Blade and Grandmaster Jauffre made quiet noises that typically seemed to crescendo from his position at the bookcase where he continued to mundanely scan the pages of the first book he had picked up.

The twenty-one year old Blade shifted his weight onto the opposite foot and yawned, his Akaviri Katana clanking quietly against his armor as he did so. Weynon Priory was quiet for the most part this time of day, with Jauffre and Captain Stephan conversing in hushed voices at the grandmaster's desk about something that Dack had no idea about. He was just along for the ride from Cloud Ruler Temple to Chorrol at Jauffre's request. Although Dack wasn't picked personally for this assignment, Captain Stephan had argued with Caroline that he needed some experience outside of the temple, which was something that he did admittedly lack. And, despite the utter boredom of the assignment, he was pleased that he managed to take a short break from the biting cold of Cloud Ruler temple.

Down the stairs in the main hall, two young Breton girls sat at one of the small round wooden tables, their eyes glued to a few scrolls of many that were scattered around the table, along with potions, books and the like. Pacing around them like some sort of predator waiting to pounce on their prey was an elderly monk, his grey thinning hair and scraggily beard only complimented the wrinkles on his face. His hands were folded at the small of his back as he carefully scrutinized their each move, making sure no mistakes were made that would potentially put either of his student's lives in danger. Both wore dark matching robes that completely contrasted their teacher's abnormally white ones.

Everything was put on indefinite hiatus when a loud knocking echoed throughout the farm house. Stephan and Jauffre immediately ceased their hushed conversation and turned towards the source of the noise. The monk quirked an eyebrow and politely excused himself from his students and took a few steps towards the door. Suddenly, Jauffre's eyes grew wide and he leapt up from his seat with more agility than Dack thought anyone that age could have. "No! Don't open the-"

It was too late. As if on cue, the door exploded, showering the monk with bits of wood that shot through the air every which way. Reflexively, the elderly peace keeper threw his arms in front of his face to shield himself. It was to no avail, almost as soon as the door had mysteriously shattered a large stream of lightning careened through the air and struck the man dead in the chest, sending him into a wall on the opposite side of the room. "Master!" One of the girls screeched and rose to her feet. Her comrade followed suit, and both were met with a belch of lighting, silencing them indefinitely.

Dack had long ago drew his blade and prepared to charge down the stairs, only to be halted by Stephan, whom grabbed him by the shoulders and flung him backwards. "No!" He seethed. "This man is far too powerful for us! You'd be dead before you reached the doorway!"

Dack blinked and scowled. "Who is it?"

The Captain opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by a deep, hoarse voice. "I am Mixagul."

All three Blades turned to see two figures at the head of the stairs. The first one, the man who had spoken, was clad in dark colored ropes with a symbol knitted into the front that Dack did not recognize. Judging from his sharp facial features, pointed ears and height, or lack thereof, he was a Bosmer. His comrade, who was of similar heritage, stood beside him, a smile plastered on her childish face and a bow straddled across her back.

Dack could hear Stephan gulped as he turned to face the mysterious duo fully. "What do you want?"

The male Bosmer, Mixagul, ignored the question. Instead his eyes scrutinized the three men before him and, like any traditional Bosmer, answered a question with a question. "Which one of you is Jauffre, grandmaster of the Blades?"

Dack noted Stephan exchanging a worried glance with Jauffre, who remained stoic. "Who's asking?" He growled in answer, hand moving to the hilt of his Katana.

The girl's smile turned into frown and, with speed faster than anything Dack had seen before, drew her bow and knocked an arrow. "Wrong answer, Imperial!" She hissed and let the arrow fly, smirking as it lodged itself right between Stephan's eyes. Dack stared in complete horror as his Captain, and long time friend, slumped to the ground lifelessly, mouth hanging agape and blank eyes staring into nothingness.

"Jauffre!" Dack drew his Katana and leapt towards the two assailants. "Run!"

Before he had even taken three steps Mixagul raised his hand and a green aura enveloped Dack, freezing him in place. "No!" He shouted. A paralysis spell. This wasn't good. Judging by the female Bosmer's rather crude curse, he assumed Jauffre had gotten away.

"Find him." Mixagul ordered, eyes never wavering from Dack's frozen figure. With a quick nod, his partner jumped to the side out of Dack's field of view.

Mixagul took a step towards him and unsheathed a small dagger at his side, mockingly examining it his captive watched helplessly. "Who are you?"

"That," Mixagul began, still refusing to meet Dack's eyes. "Is a question you already know, my friend. However," He cleared his throat and finally looked up. "I understand how slow you Imperial types are. I am Mixagul, Master Wizard."

"Never heard of you," Dack spat back.

The Bosmer grunted and shrugged before returning his focus to the dagger. "No matter, you won't be alive to hear of anyone else, either."

A chill cascaded down Dack's spine. The Bosmer's words were dripping with venom and seriousness. He closed his eyes slowly. "Why?" He asked calmly.

The Bosmer seemed to freeze and look up, eyes slanted. "Excuse me?"

"Why?" Dack repeated. "Why are you doing this?"

The question seemed to bother the Wizard and he chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. After a few long moments of silence, he smiled lightly and chuckled. He took a few steps towards Dack and placed one hand on his victim's shoulder and his lips close to his ear. Due to Mixagul's shortness, he had to stand on his toes, and the scene would have almost been comical if not for such dire consequences. "That my friend," He whispered. "I do not even understand myself."

Dack let out a grunt of agonizing pain as the dagger was slid into his side. Before everything went black, the Bosmer took a few steps back and lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

Dack fell to the ground, a small pool of blood rapidly beginning to form around his corpse.

_Strange_. Mixagul thought, wiping the dagger off on a nearby cloth and sheathing it. _He was a peculiar one. Not like the others…_ He looked around the room once more and shrugged. _No matter. What's done is done._

And with that, he flicked his wrist and a fireball ignited a nearby pillar. "Let all be forgotten." He voiced before exiting back the way he came, leaving the Weynon Priory in a fiery blaze.

_**Well? What did you think? Constructive criticism is always welcome. So please review and tell me what you think! In the next chapter we will introduce one (maybe two) of our protagonists! **_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Skye Aburma leaned against one of the many stone walls inside the Cheydinhal Castle. His rather sudden summoning from Count Andel Indarys caught him by surprise. Not only did his family just recently relocate to Cheydinhal, what would the Count want with an Imperial? _Barely _twenty-one at that? And if that wasn't enough, upon entering the castle, he was asked to relieve his sword, something he did not regularly do. In Chorrol, the use of carrying around arms was not only legal, but _encouraged. _Of course, due to being surrounded by a landscape as dangerous as the Great Forest, then traveling without some sort of small arsenal was a death wish.

Either way, he didn't argue with the guards, or push the fact that he _should_ be allowed to carry around his sword. He handed it over and was led to the Count's private quarters and ordered to wait outside while the two guardsmen went in. Despite the fact that he had his suit of lightweight chainmail armor on, he felt naked without a weapon. It was something that he was going to have to get used to while living here in Cheydinhal.

Running a gauntleted hand through his dark ear length hair, his eyes rested on the door leading into the chambers that held Count Indarys as it opened, revealing one of the two guards that had escorted him. "Come," He nodded and motioned him in.

Wordlessly, Skye followed the aged guard inside, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head upon seeing the posh private chambers. Extravagant and flamboyant tapestries lined the walls, some having intricate designs and others being plain, solid colors. A variety of wines and other alcoholic beverages neatly arranged in three very large cabinets that lacked doors gave Skye the impression that Count Andel was a connoisseur of sorts. On the far side of the room was a large bend lined with blood red velvet sheets and similarly colored drapes.

Standing by the lone wood polished table was the Count himself, holding a glass of what looked to be wine, moving the cup around gently and sloshing the contents of it with a worried look on his face. For some reason, Skye would bet his lifetime savings of septims that the source of this Dunmer's concern wasn't on the wine. "My lord," The Guard bowed his head lightly, snapping Andel out of his trance.

"Thank you, Aegis," The expression, as well as the tone of his voice, spoke the true meaning of the words.

Aegis and the second guard stationed at the door nodded quickly, both understanding the meaning behind the words, and hurriedly left, closing the door quietly behind them. Skye frowned. Something _definitely _wasn't right about this. "May I get you something to drink?" The Count offered.

Skye considered the question in his head. From what little he knew of Dunmer hospitality, refusing something being offered was an insult. Finally, he nodded. "Yes,"

"I assume you are curious as to why I have summoned you." He began, taking a long sip of his wine before placing it onto the table, grabbing a nearby bottle and pouring Skye a glass.

"The question crossed my mind once or twice," Skye nodded his thanks as he took the glass and drank slowly, allowing the cool liquid to slide down his throat. He licked his lips. "This is delicious," He was slightly taken aback by the sweet, yet somewhat tart taste. "Where in Cyrodil did you get this?"

Andel chuckled lightly, the first time Skye had seen him smile. "I brewed it myself. It's a recipe long passed down from my family bloodline. I like to consider myself a…" He paused, searching for the right word. "Connoisseur."

"Yes, I've noticed," Skye took another drink. The Count watched him carefully, waiting until he was finished drinking to continue.

After a few long moments of silence, he cleared his throat and sat down at the table. "As you obviously know, I am Count Andel Indarys of Cheydinhal. I have summoned you because I hear your father was a one of the most accomplished swordsmen in all of Cyrodil?"

Skye winced. That part was true enough. Akya Aburma, mercenary for hire and legendary swordsman. "He was also an alcoholic."

Andel pursed his lips. The fact about Akya's alchohilc tendancies were just as well known, if not more, as his swordsmanship skills. "A sad fact I was hoping would be a rumor," He commented, taking a sip of his own wine. "Nevertheless, I would assume he has taught you a thing or two?"

"He did," Skye nodded. "I trained under him whenever I had the chance."

Andel nodded. "Tell me," He sat up straighter in his chair. "How often was that?"

The question struck Skye by surprise. He paused for a moment to think. "Less often than I would have hoped. He was high on the recruitment list for almost every guild hall in Tamriel. He was always off doing some sort of assignment." He took a drink. The Count patiently waited. "Sometimes he would be gone for months."

"A true shame," Andel shook his head, placed his glass on the table and stood up. A few steps later, he was crouched over a large chest at the foot of his bed.

Skye watched as he unlocked the chest and carefully began rifling around inside. "I have a question,"

"Go on," Andel said without looking up from the chest.

"Why did your men take my weapon at the entrance?"

He could almost see the Count's small smile. "Quite simple, my friend," He informed. "You don't need it anymore."

Skye arched an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

Wordlessly the Dunmer royalty arose from the chest, a sheathed blade balanced on both of his open palms. "Because you are receiving a weapon _far_ superior."

From what Skye could see of the blade, the hilt was just long enough for someone to hold comfortably without any extra length. The guard looked to be of an elegant craft and design that he had never seen before. "What is it?"

"A family heirloom," Andel explained, outstretching it out to Skye. The Imperial took it graciously. "It has been passed down through my family for millenniums. It is truly a prized relic."

Skye unsheathed the weapon and nearly dropped it in amazement. The blade itself was covered in miniscule pricks that started at the hilt guard and traversed the full length of the sword. He knew of this sword… but to be holding it was something he would never have dreamed of! "Thornblade…" His voice was barely above a whisper.

It was now the Count's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You know of it?"

Skye nodded wordlessly, mouth still hanging ajar in stupefied awe at the weapon before him. "Yes… my father spoke of it once or twice."

"Good." Andel clapped his hands together. "Then we can skip that part."

"Aldrea Yusinc!"

The Breton girl groaned loudly and brushed a strand of blond hair out of her eyes, momentarily ceasing her alchemical work and turning towards the source of the noise. In the doorway leading into her bedroom was her mother, hand planted firmly on her hips. "Yes mother?" Aldrea asked, hiding the rapidly rising tone of annoyance in her voice. This was the third time within the last hour she had been interrupted. And it was _always_ at the most inopportune moments.

"Your father and I are going to watch the Arena fights. Watch your siblings."

"Again?" It wasn't so much of her having to watch her siblings, but her parents were also compulsive gamblers. They would go to Arena nightly, and end up blowing most of their savings, thus putting the family into a deep debt. "I have to finish this potion for acceptance into the academy!"

"Family comes first, Aldrea!" Her mother lectured. "You can finish your potions later tonight."

Growling something under her breath, she glared daggers at her mother's back as she left. Upon hearing the front door slam shut, she frustratingly began cleaning out her tools. She had learned long ago not to let anger get the best of her. As Arch-Mage Travern always told her; "anger causes people to make mistakes, mistakes that more often than not put lives in danger."

She had live by that creed for most of her life. And she wasn't about to let her family squabbles change that. When she was finally finished cleaning she arranged everything neatly on the desk and stood up, dragging her feet downstairs to watch her four younger siblings.

"You can't be serious."

Skye was having a rather difficult time wrapping his mind around what the Count was saying. Mysterious rouge Bosmer assassins? Systematically killing every person that held any type of authority in Cyrodil? The thought was absurd, _especially _for someone such as Andel Indarys.

"I am," Said Dunmer nodded gloomily. Thornblade had long ago gone from the shaking hands of its new owner to his side, tightened snugly to his waist. "He goes by the name of Mixagul and has a tendency to not leave behind a trail." He frowned. "Something that has made him rather difficult to track down."

Skye shook his head, still not believing what was being said. "How do you know all of this?"

"Contacts," Andel answered simply. "I know people on the inside."

"So why don't they deal with him?"

Sighing with impatience, Andel rolled his eyes. "That would ruin the point of a 'contact', now wouldn't it? If I lose them, then I lose what little information they have on Mixagul."

The logic was sound, as Skye would have expected. "So…" He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do I have to do with this?"

"I'm glad you asked." Andel pulled neatly folded piece of parchment out of his pocket and carefully spread it across the table. The coffee colored piece of paper looked to be nothing more than a mere map, with small ink spots and sloppily drawn circles placed in seemingly random locations. "This is a map of Cyrodil. The areas circled are where he's been spotted the most."

Skye stepped over beside the table and studied the map. While most of the circles centered on the southern-most parts of Cyrodil, more specifically Bravil and Leyawin, a more recent looking one surrounded Chorrol. "Is he going after the county leaders?"

"Not only that," The new voice prompted Skye to spin around on his heel to the source of the intruder. A girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen, sat crouched on the ledge of the window, her skin tight black armor was matched with a hood that hid most of her facial features. "He's targeting faction leaders as well."

"I thought you'd never get here." Andel seemed relieved to see the girl, and stood from his seat, arms open wide at his side. "Welcome!"

The girl nodded slowly and leapt off the ledge, landing gracefully on her feet. A sparkling silver dagger was strapped to her side. "My pleasure, Count."

Almost as if he forgot the Imperial's presence, Andel turned back towards Skye. "Ah, Skye! This is one of my most trusted contacts; Namiel."

"Careful, Count…" The girl, Namiel, warned wearily. "Can he be trusted with names?"

"He can," Andel assured. "Now if you could put your skepticism aside, maybe we could get down to business?"

"Comes with the job," Namiel passed Skye without a second glance and poured herself a rather large glass of wine. "You know how that goes."

The Count chuckled. "That I do, friend. Now, shall we get to work? We have lots of plans to make before the night is over."


End file.
